


Weak

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek 2009, Star Trek 2013, Star Trek Into Darkness - Fandom
Genre: M/M, SPOILERS FOR INTO DARKNESS
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-10
Updated: 2013-05-10
Packaged: 2017-12-10 22:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/791127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim was always under the impression that Spock never felt anything, just because he chose not to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weak

**Author's Note:**

  * For [hartwin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hartwin/gifts).



> SPOILERS FOR INTO DARKNESS. Just a little something I wrote for my kid brother :) I apologise for any mistakes.
> 
> Sort of an alternative ending, if Kirk hadn't been saved.

It still hurts. Deep inside Spock's chest, like a never ending ache that he tries to hide, but it's getting harder with each passing day. He goes about his duties, gives his orders, but it's all just routine now. Nothing is the same anymore.

He still doesn't understand it, and he knows he never will. He'll never allow himself to, the Vulcan part of him just won't. The human part, however, is fighting a losing battle to express the building pain in his chest, to just let it all out. It's the strangest feeling, whenever he does allow it, just a little, to bubble over the surface, when he's alone in his quarters. There's a word for it, he's sure of it, this _feeling_ that he's overriding. It's different to how he feels about Uhura, more intense, more... _burning_.

Jim was always under the impression that Spock never felt anything, just because he chose not to. But that was just it - he _chose_ not to feel, it wasn't that he didn't care, because he did, so, _so_ much more than anyone could imagine. The human part of him wanted to tell people, wanted those he cared for most to know, but he couldn't. He just couldn't.

"C'ptin?"

Spock looks up, almost startled by the fact he had been in a daze. He looks around to the Chair before he realises he's sitting in it, then looks back to Chekov.

"Set coordinates for Neptune," Spock manages after a second, before he gets to his feet, excusing himself to his quarters. His head hurts, something that is getting a little too common these days, something he never dealt with before. When he gets to his quarters, he falls down on the hard mattress and calls for the lights to dim. He turns on his side in the dark and stares at the grey closet in the corner. There's a standard gold Starfleet shirt in the back of the closet, dirty and unfamiliar amond the clean, pressed shirts it hangs behind. It's been there for over three months now, since the funeral, and whilst Spock knows he probably has no right to lay claim to it, and he can't bear to look at it, he can't seem to part with it either.

Spock takes a deep breath and turns around, facing the wall.

He chooses not to feel.


End file.
